


In the Forest I Call Home

by skekMal



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skekMal/pseuds/skekMal
Summary: I am getting into skekMal's head. I always thought that he developed quite inner life, being alone for trines. So here he goes!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. One

skekMal inhaled the deep scent of the thick forest; the moss mixed with damp earth and the rain that just washed Thra. His tail thumped against the ground, with content, as last droplets fell on his unmasked face.

This wasn’t as good as hunt. But good of its own. To feel that he is part of this place, which belonged to him, yet he never fully was rooted in. In these moments, when everything was soaked in water, and the branches of the trees covered the bleak suns, he felt more bound to this forest. He was like those trees, eternal, with his feet dug into the soil, which was giving him prey, each day and each night.

His fists clenched, talons buried in his own skin, but not drawing blood.

This was a promising start of a good day. Good for hunt. Good for the kill. Good to live it through.

*

He has never forgotten the first hunt.

Never forgot the first bite of the prey he slew himself. The taste of blood on his tongue, sharp and intense scent of the animal, the way his teeth were sinking into the flesh.

He learned to prepare his meat in the future, over the brimming fire.

But the taste of blood still lingered in his senses, the taste of youth and freedom. It would be foolish for him to not try it even now.

His fangs tore the morsel of freshly hunted makrak. It’s good. It’s natural. It’s HIM. Why change that?

*

He never considered himself a guest. Not in this forest. Not in the Crystal Desert. Not among the nature breathing the fresh air into its green lungs.

He surely wasn’t born here and his body won’t return to Thra, as it never came from it.

But he was never a guest. He was part of Thra since his first day, when he was traveling the whole day, searching for his first prey.

Maybe his blood never belonged here, maybe the soil would never accept it when it soaks into the ground. But this land was his and no one would take that away from him, he was the owner of it, as much as the other skeksis owned the castle, gelfling, power over the commons.

He didn’t even need to prove that. It was as natural as the circle of life, natural as strong taking over the weak, and natural as the predator claiming its meal.

*

He was proud, of everything that he was. It was not only typical skeksis pride, which was so tied to their kind, as the Dousan were tied to death. Skeksis were boasting over the power they had, feeling everything belongs to them, taking and taking and taking, never giving. And if something happened and they gave, it was never sincere.

His pride was never connected with who he was, when he was born, in the flash of light and screaming and terror. It was earned. It was based on hundreds of trines of proving his skill to himself, hard work over his traits, relentlessly pursue over being the one that was feared among the land, the shadow that eats the flesh, the ghastly apparition everyone knew about yet no one could say they know its true identity.

He was proud because he had reason to. Not sniffing books, not partying till the legs were bending and the world spinning, not using slaves or servants to do things for him, which he could easily do on his own.

Yes, his pride was coming from a source that was carved in his very being. Because he could engage in a most deadly battle, most bloody fight, most dangerous hunt.

And always end up victorious.

Nothing as good as the thought, that he was the only skeksis that truly conquered death.


	2. Two

He has seen in the woods many things. From beautiful, through dangerous, to atrocious. All taught him more about Thra. The dawn, midnight, all filled with beings that only this place could give birth to. Luminescent, fanged, horned, colorful, and black as night.

He hunted on them, yes. But never without a certain awe. His land was brimming with life and since his early days, he liked to think that being predator here, doesn’t strip him from the binds that Thra put on him.

He liked it. It was satiating his hunger for the unknown. The unknown is so tempting.

And he never was backing off from any temptation he was able to fulfill.

***

The hunt never ends. But after a rough battle, the blinking stars over his head seemed blurred and the forest denser. The shadows were creeping around him as they felt blood on him. And there it was, a lot of blood, trickling, and pooling from his wounded flank and leg, like a stream of rubies.

skekMal’s tired hand laid on the dead animal’s corpse, which he eventually slew. But not without costs. Each hunt could be his last, he knew that, but even if he was prepared, he didn’t w a n t that. He liked to live, conquer his limits, each day, from morning till night filled with luminescent light of Thra.

His gaze landed on the sharp jagged wound coming from his chest to his hip. A slight hiss escaped his beak. That was too easy. Too easily the animal wounded him. When he gets off this ordeal - and he was not sure, if he will, not at all - he will be more cautious. Last hunts made him feel invincible, and this one put him again on Thra’s surface.

Curse it; he spat saliva, which was not mixed with blood. If he was wounded internally, it will be much more difficult to mend his hide.

But the animal was laying next to him, dead, very dead, and he was still alive. If he manages to move, he will go to his camp and mend himself.

He wouldn’t be skekMal if he didn’t try.

He wouldn’t be a skeksis if he didn’t want to win over death. One more time.

***

He lurked through the forest like a shadow, blended with the mists, unknown hunter, an apparition, which was feared by many but never seen… until he was the last thing you witnessed, as he appeared before you in the darkness, to make you his prey.


	3. Not Today

There were rites at the beginning of time when he was still very young and his body still not as tested by battles and hunts and age, not scarred, not hard as leather. He was more naive, purer, and definitely more stupid.

He was thinking them up himself, leading parties of the hunting skeksis, who were as well young, and naive and very very stupid. Even more than himself, he thought.

Their bodies were bending in an ecstatic dance of the prosperity and when the hunt came well, they were taking even more wild approach, to appease Thra. To appease themselves, to assure themselves that Thra wants them.

Now, the rites were gone and the hunt started to be a rite of its own. He had his habits, yes. But he never danced at night anymore, never squirmed between starts, not now.

Now, he was silent, deadly, and focused and if he ever did any rite, did any honor to Thra, it was never before or after the hunt.

He was silent facing the days of youth. He wanted to forget them. Not because he was so very very stupid back then. Not because the other skeksis became even more stupid as the trines went on.

Because it - deep down in his soul - was too painful to think about. He had secrets, which never see the daylight. These secrets will disperse one day during the next and next hunt. It was his own ritual of survival and the way to forget the things that never should be seen by a living being.

He wanted to feed on life, on fresh prey. Not the ghosts that inhabited his soul every time he got lost in memories.

One day. One day he ventures onto these paths and deals with them.

But not today.


	4. Us

His opposite. His enemy. His friend. His lover. And his undoing if he ever chooses that.

He never ever tried to solve the mystery that was his counterpart. He never tried, not really hard, only sometimes was giving this a few thoughts, to abandon them, as unable to explain. He never knew if he can call him a foe or the only person that truly understood him. Even when they were sharing bodies. This was an act of self-love, which suited him. After all, he was as selfish as skeksis could be. Self-love was the only kind of real love he would admit he could feel to anyone.

urVa was patient. Not as patient as other urru. He had wild streak which fascinated skekMal because he felt that he himself had some sentimental part too. There was a thick mental rope between them they shared and which was binding them together with a vine that couldn't be cut.

Sometimes he thought that this sentimental side was implanted in him by urVa himself. Sharing hunts, sharing tales, sharing everything when they rarely met - it all made him different. He was sure that the same happened with urVa - he became wilder, more reckless.

Dare and calm mixed together into something that once was one creature and never - if skekMal had a word in that - will exist again. The mere thought of being someone else than the _Hunter_ was repulsing to him.

They both shared one more love. Love for life. Curiosity for life and the will to explore, travel, tear the last drop of existence from Thra and absorb it themselves. urVa would not admit it but skekMal knew. He was observant and patient.

Why his enemy, his friend, his lover, his opposite, was the only one who could be his undoing? Why he had a string of certainty that urVa, even if loved him, could put Thra before him and himself?

But skekMal never wanted to destroy Thra. This was his land, his blood, his root, and bone. And they both walked the same paths, sometimes in the same Unum, knowing that the other was there too.

And smiling bitterly at that. _Soon. We will meet soon. And we won’t talk about anything but us._


	5. Throphy

He never knew what went wrong. His face gained a raw scar, a cut of talons that almost severed right half of his face. He didn't care for how this looks. He would even wear it with pride, as all scars on his body.

But others would see and know, yes, know, he can be beaten, torn, and his flesh destroyed. He didn't fight for the reputation of being a shadow and death, to show the gelfling and especially skeksis, mostly other skeksis, that he can be vulnerable.

So he killed the beast. His size, his strength, all matched his own.

Took one trophy only, a skull. And put it on the face, on the scar and it fit like he swallowed not only the strength of that animal with its meat but its being.

Many trines later, the gelfling will be talking about the masked ghost, killing the reckless fools at night and leaving bones of animals, taking some as a trophy, the rest allowing to return to Thra and become one with the earth. It will please him.

But now, the first time in his short, hundred-trine life, he really absorbed the soul of a slain beast. He didn't know if this happens again. But it was a good feeling.


	6. The Gelfling

The gelfling were indifferent to him as prey.

There were tales that he especially likes to capture the reckless Stonewood, who got too far into the woods, kill them and eat their flesh to satiate his endless hunger for prey's meat.

That was amusing.

Gelfling was unworthy prey and he killed them only if they get in a way into the hunt on something bigger and more intimidating. His skill as a hunter would be insulted if he especially followed, tracked, and killed a gelfling.

But that was good they feared him. They won't be meddling in his pursuits.

He liked a few gelfling in his life. These were not afraid of him, at least not when he allowed them to know him. When he allowed them to live and see that he won't send them forth and follow them for sport, to later devour them. Though they believed that for quite long at the beginning.

Gelfling weren't as stupid as the castle dwellers imagined. They were naive in some way that he couldn’t deny but could guess much more than skekVar or skekSo could expect. They didn't have sharp skeksis senses, talons, and fangs. They had much less to use. Yes, there were hunters among them and he knew they aren't weak, scared, and clumsy. In comparison to him, much weaker, like childlings. but they had something, this energy of youth, that he liked observing, from afar, when they killed prey, fought for life, or died in the claws and jaws.

Still, the tales of himself amused him, even if at the beginning, when he was young, insulted in some way.

Now he was wiser enough to use them for his own benefit.


	7. Duality

He observed skekSo more often than the Emperor could even guess. Most often, the ruler has seen him only when he revealed himself. The days in the forest passed slowly, animals were protecting their cubs this season and he didn't mean to interfere. He will wait till they grow up and become worthy prey, no honor in pursuing a mother with her children.

But skekSo was always an interesting observation subject. Head always high, feathers crowning his face like a spiked tiara. The court members were coming and going, supplying, and demanding. And he herded them like nebries until they were doing what he wanted. What they should be doing.

But when he was alone and that was most often when skekMal was most curious to observe him, he was shedding the skin of a mighty ruler. That was skekSo only skekMal knew. Tired, almost destroyed by responsibility and angry, very angry.

Most skeksis would never believe it, maybe only the angry part, but the Hunter knew that either of these faces is the true one, it was duality they all had, despite being already halves.

skekSo was most dual of all of them.

The powerful Emperor at day. A tired shepherd at night.

The Hunter's eyes were piercing the candle-lit chamber, when skekSo was massaging his own forehead, trying to get rid of the pain.

He allowed the Emperor to hear him and when skekSo turned back, he just disappeared.

_ Another time. _

It was a promise.

He would never confront him when he was not ready.

skekSo, apart of skekSa, who wasn't part of all of this anymore, was the only skeksis in the court, that skekMal had some respect for.

Another time. Hunt your nightmares, Emperor, with head high, just as you confront the reality.

_ Just as I confront mine. _


	8. Memories

It was then when Rek'yr refused to guide him on the hunt anymore, during passage through the Crystal Desert depths.

He lunged on the animal like a hungry beast, throwing the blades aside, seeing red. Tearing its throat with talons and fangs, he didn’t even think. He needed to kill it, feel the blood in his mouth, bath in it, devour it before —-

He wasn’t always like that. Some things triggered him, like the scent, taste… something that was reminding him of the most traumatic hunts he ever had.

And he had few, he wanted to forget.

He was unbroken but he wasn’t unbent. He learned his title hard way.

Some knew. Some of them, he allowed to know and live. Some were long dead, their corpses decomposing in the ground.

Living alone had more merits than just being free. They didn’t see him wake up at night, talons dug up in the fur he was lying on, teeth pressed like he was about to break someone’s neck with them.

Rek'yr wasn’t a fool. But definitely couldn’t know anything from his hidden life…

… and skekMal didn’t want him dead either.


	9. Indulgence

All skeksis were looking at him when he feasted. He returned from the forest, as he was doing every trine, if uncalled, to check on how much older and weaker they became. There was some typical skeksis ego in it, to show himself strong, sharp and untamed, and observing them tangled in rich robes concealing their bodies and doing everything to not fall into skekSo's disfavor.

He didn't care also for subtleties of eating. He just sank his teeth in the meat - which was delicious, touched by Gourmand's handy set of spices - and tore in half, swallowing almost full portion. He felt the more decent ones looked at that with horror. He gurgled with laughter, sending them a knowing gaze, and seeing them turn away.

He didn't actually care if they like him, are scared of him, or hate him with passion. He missed them, though. Despite himself, this was his weak spot, and showoff of his strength was only one of the reasons why he was always returning.

Pitiful, silly, impossible... still, his own kind.

He caught skekSo's curious look and taking the cup of wine - he missed that too - he leaned in his chair, allowing his back spines flatten against the support and secondary arms lay on the sides.

It was lush life which he led when he was younger. The Archer definitely implanted him some sentiments, while they hunted together.

It was indulgent, he thought when the cold and sweet liquid trickled down his throat. But when he was young, he was not different from them.

He liked this court of fools, even if he would use even violent means to deny it.


	10. Hunt

The wind brings the scent of prey… sharp as dagger, strong and intoxicating. Filling his world with impatience, that can by quenched only by the hunt.

With his claws ready to tear the flesh, he observes the animal, as it runs through the green.  
But he will be faster that it. He always is.  
And as long as this can be given to him every day, this wild sense of freedom…

… nothing can be compared to be now and here, living.

He jumps, and falls on the beast, with oustretched talons, with blades in minor hands. Burying the fangs in the fur, sinking the steel into the skin. It gives a resistance, good, this is what he always hope for. Battling him off itself, the prey roars, filling his ears with pure thrill.

But even if wounded… he will win.

He always does.

Standing above the fallen beast, he inhales in the fresh air mixed with the scent of blood. Touching the animal’s fur, brushing it with fingers, and taking a hold on it. You were mine, always.

And now we are one.


	11. In Another Time...

The celebrations at the castle wouldn’t do without him. They all knew he won’t be engaged, and will try to part from the group as soon as it’s possible, not waiting for the other skeksis, not caring for them and the grand feasts they prapered. The luxuries were indifferent to him, the older he was getting.

  
It was fine of course. He didn’t belonged between them. His lungs were filled with the scent of the trees, the scent of the animals, the scent of the fresh air at chill morning.

  
And that alone was a good reason to invite him.

  
He shed the skin of the lord long time ago and each time he received the invitation to the castle, he cared less for etiquette, was more angry from tearing him from his roots.

  
And one last time, he just didn’t come. They knew, though, if he came to the castle, something bad would happen. 

  
He knew it too. And ignored it wholeheartedly.

  
They missed him, oh yes. The aura of danger, the antama tree needles on his robes, the look which was telling more about Thra, that they ever could taste.

  
But it was time to remove the last shackles. He was a skeksis afterall. Selfish as all of them, self-centered as all. He chose his own path and noone and nothing could stand on his way.

Sometimes… though… the memory of youth, and the imperial bedchamber, the almost painful pleasure and touch lingering on his skin… the first hunt together, when he was licking blood from his sharp beak.

_Shaking his head from the water from the stream, he pushes it deep down into his core, the memory. But still, a groan escapes his throat._

_In another time…_


	12. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loose thoughts about skekMal again.

1.

Sitting in the darkness, surrounded only by trees, stars, wildlife sounds and the night itself, he looked at the last prey cooking over the fire.

“You surely were hard to catch” he grinned, his eyes gleaming in the shadows caused by the flames. When it was ready, his fangs sank into the flesh, juicy and still with a hint of blood in it.

He never considered talking to himself as odd, or a thing that would say something peculiar about his sanity. He was alone. Not lonely, though sometimes, he would push that thought deeper into the corners of his brains than it would be necessary.

His voice, coarse, raw and raspy, laugh, gurgling deep in his throat, growls of pain or anger.

It was all he had. And he liked it.

***

In the palace of the crystal, a young guard looked from the battlements, curious what thrills the service brings her. The strange longing can’t define her life. Now she was serving the lords. What could make her less lonely than this?

2.

As long as he is one with Thra, the hunt is good, his talons are stained with blood, and urVa is near, urVa, with his almost painful understanding and that cursed herbal tea... He feels so alive.

3.

The celebration. This and that, he can’t even remembers all the names skekZok gave them.

He celebrates second solstice in his own way. No need for fancy words, elaborated rituals. 

Just him and the forest and...

... when the mystic appears. he is sitting by the fire, the flames reflecting in his green eyes. He is half naked, the rest of his clothes will follow.

“At last” he says, taking off his mask. In face of this rite, nothing is needed, aside of himself.

In the distance, a castle horn is heard. The sound rings in the deep darkness of the cool night and dies minute after.

He knew they will try.

Now.

In the future.

But he has his own ways of celebrating second solstice.

4.

When he stood over the slain beast, his feathers bristled and stained with blood, he knew this will be his way from now on.

The skeksis never cared for such trivial things as hunting, killing the animals from wilderness, even to fill ther stomachs. Much more preffering to lay on soft soft pillows, drinking fine liquors and stretching in lazy haze.

He always felt, though, that this is not his path. He wanted to feel the blade sinking under the ribs, taste red on his fangs, bury his talons into living.

When he stood over the beast, he never felt so alive.

He will make this forest his - his own kingdom of skulls and trees.

5.

He lived here, among Thra forests, when the skeksis reign started. Far from their eyes. Far from bothering laws and rules. They always waited for him to come, because he was unknown, someone they always wanted to be, but were too comfortable between luxuries, to get lost in the wilds. He knew that, trying at first to instill the hunger for freedom in them.

They tried but never liked it. It became a dream and a fantasy they never wanted to truly fulfill.

He gave up later than he should.


	13. Three

**SKEKSIL** : Hmmm, Hunter is in good shape, Chamberlain admires Hunter, his strength and the way he instills fear in all, his wild eyes making all knees—-

 **SKEKMAL** : You want something.

 **SKEKSIL** :

He hated skekSil. He hated his sly deceiving ways. But he also was fond of him. He still remembered him young, feathered, singing songs which were breaking everyone’s hearts. Even his own lies couldn’t kill that singing creature for good in him. So he despised him. Hated him. But was fond of the memory lingering in his voice, in his looks.

The Cantor still was there. Only maimed and mangled by the spiderwebs of his own misplaced, lost path, which never was straight.

He could never really forget the days of youth. Good day of carefree frolickling, a naive and really stupid times. But so tempting now when his trine counted in hundreds.

This will never return. But he still was seeing in those foolish creatures even more foolish younger selves.

He hated skekSil. Despised his lies.

But…

… but. There is always a completely unnecesary _but_ , which makes everything more complicated…

*****

He sat by the entrance to the cave. The same one urVa gifted to him, locating all his abandoned trophies in it, which he thought one day will be swallowed by hungry forest. Herb in minor hand, the bottle of beverage in major.

The small clouds of smoke forming around him ghastly shapes, as he uncorked the brew with s strong pull and swallowed almost all in one gulp.

Sometimes, the peace was all he really craved for. There will be time for hunt, soon enough, there will be time for bloodspill. But now, it was just him, the intoxicating herb and not less intoxicating liquor.

And the night. The wind. The stars.

His. It was all his.

*****

They never knew what he has done with the guard they sent with him. Probably he killed her as many others before. He never cared about the gelflng and when they were meddling with his hunt, slowed him down, or angered him, he always was getting rid of them.

But later, the joke they hoped to laugh from, turned into the unknown.

Only the rumors among Dousan. That they have seen the Hunter and the wild Stonewood, among the deserts, hunting together.

This was pretty excruciating.

But he… he simply did what he wanted. _Nothing can stop the hunt._


End file.
